


Not Your Monster

by Poe



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic Geralt, Character Study, Ficlet, Geralt can't use his words, Geralt loves his bard so damn much, Hopeful Ending, Idiots in Love, Largely canon with a couple of minor tweaks, M/M, Netflix show canon only I can't afford the game right now, Podfic Available, Trans Geralt, Worrying about Jaskier's mortality, autistic author, mentions of past trauma, nonbinary author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24110053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poe/pseuds/Poe
Summary: "Geralt thinks a lot about choices. Choices that were made for him, choices that were taken away from him. Choices he made, choices he should have made. A lifetime etched on his skin in scars and in bones that never healed quite right. Being on the outside, looking in, never quite feeling the warmth on his skin the way others seemed to. Finding the world black and white whilst others saw vivid colour.Jaskier sings, and it’s a catalogue of battles and hero worship. Jaskier is sunshine yellow in a sea of grey, shining too bright for Geralt to ever look at him full on, like his eyes might burn right out of their sockets. So he grunts when Jaskier praises him, turns away when Jaskier raises a hand to his wounds."Or: Geralt is so in love it hurts, and so afraid of what that might mean.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 34
Kudos: 225





	Not Your Monster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ACometAppears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACometAppears/gifts).



> Thank you to @jaybrogers (tumblr) for basically creating this fic with me and to @jesuisgrace (AO3) for beta-ing for me (all remaining mistakes are entirely my own).

Geralt thinks a lot about choices. Choices that were made for him, choices that were taken away from him. Choices he made, choices he should have made. A lifetime etched on his skin in scars and in bones that never healed quite right. Being on the outside, looking in, never quite feeling the warmth on his skin the way others seemed to. Finding the world black and white whilst others saw vivid colour.

Jaskier sings, and it’s a catalogue of battles and hero worship. Jaskier is sunshine yellow in a sea of grey, shining too bright for Geralt to ever look at him full on, like his eyes might burn right out of their sockets. So he grunts when Jaskier praises him, turns away when Jaskier raises a hand to his wounds.

This world is not a kind world, and it has proven itself over and over in blood and guts and the stench of death clinging to him despite the burn of hot water and the desperate scrub of hands. Jaskier watches him, sometimes, and he should care, shouldn’t he? It should feel like an invasion, to be seen, for Jaskier to see every part of him, sewn together and bursting at the seams, so many words on the tip of his tongue and none of them ever audible.

Jaskier doesn’t mention the scars on his chest, doesn’t make any comment on them. And Geralt thinks this is perhaps a kindness. Two more scars on the list shouldn’t matter, but these were chosen and hard won, and in a world that looks at him and cringes back, these scars do nothing to endear him further.

Jaskier talks like he’s been cursed to speak a certain amount of words a day lest he drop dead. Jaskier talks about the important stuff and he talks about the inconsequential stuff, and he gives it all equal weight, finding levity in the dark and sorrow in the light. _How easy_ , Geralt thinks, _would it be to drive him away_? To go back to the quiet, to close down again, screaming inside, waking up in the middle of the night with the slow beat of his heart picking up just an inch too much, resting his hand there and feeling the phantom numbness of the skin beneath it, the strange knowing of touch existing but not being felt.

Sometimes, he thinks of Jaskier’s hands, and the way they dance in the air as he talks, and how beautifully they might dance over his skin, finding secrets that nobody else could possibly know. Jaskier knows so much, and it baffles Geralt, baffles him the way the bard gets secrets out of him that he’s told nobody, secrets that hurt like a gut wound, secrets that hold power over him, secrets that could be spat back in anger and tear him down like hailstorm.

Jaskier isn’t built to destroy, though. Jaskier, who grins even when he’s sad, who picks a flower just to push it behind his ear so that Geralt rolls his eyes at him, Jaskier who has somehow managed to win even Roach over, Jaskier who is so human, frighteningly so, delicate in a way Geralt has never been, has never allowed himself to be.

Geralt thinks about time, and it terrifies him. Terrifies him that Jaskier will age as he does not. Terrifies him that one day the bard won’t be able to keep up, or will move too slowly out of harm’s way. Witchers die when they get slow. Humans die all the time. It’s in their nature.

It’s awful.

There are words.

There are words that Geralt wishes he could say. Words that twist in his mouth and come out coarse and cruel, but words that Jaskier seems to interpret anyway. He wants to say _touch me_ , he wants to say _kiss me until I can’t breathe_ , he wants to say _please, please don’t ever leave me_.

He wants to say _don’t listen to what they say, I’m not a monster_.

But Jaskier knows, doesn’t he? He’s never been a monster to Jaskier. Jaskier who finds patience despite the mania of his motions, Jaskier who presses rags to Geralt’s wounds until the blood stops seeping through. Jaskier, who looks at him when he thinks he’s distracted –

Jaskier who was never scared. Jaskier who keeps not being scared. Jaskier who runs into battle not because he has a death wish, but because he is following Geralt.

Fuck.

Maybe it was easier before. But Jaskier makes him bloom inside, warming away the winters, reddening his heart when he thought it must be soot black.

Time is fickle, and fate is more fickle still. Words are slow as honey dripping from the pot, and they don’t always sound quite right to his ears.

But maybe there is time enough to get them right.

His bard approaches him, a smile wide on his face and his lute thrown over one shoulder, like it is a careless action, because Jaskier exudes that, carelessness, but it’s an act. Jaskier cares like burning, like there is a coal fire alight within him.

Jaskier says something, offhand, like it doesn’t matter, and Geralt rolls his eyes and grunts, and Jaskier pushes his shoulder against Geralt’s and tells him to cheer up, what’s the worst that could happen?

If Geralt were to – if Geralt found the words to tell Jaskier, everything, beginning, middle, eventual end, would he snuff that out of him? That light? Or would it simply jump, from one wick to another, shining within Geralt like they were a matching pair?

Jaskier slings an arm over Geralt’s shoulders and Geralt doesn’t shrug him off.

He is not a praying man, but he asks for time.

The weight of Jaskier’s arm should feel like nothing at all, and yet it is everything, shockwaves sending tiny cracks through the surface of a long abandoned tundra.

Geralt closes his eyes for a moment, and steadies himself. And then he walks out of Jaskier’s hold, and forwards. Ever forwards.

His bard follows. 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay please don't yell at me for not reading the books or playing the games yet - I'm saving up for something to play the games on, I should be able to play them in a couple of months. :) 
> 
> This idea came jointly from my friend and I, I wrote it, he surprised me with some brilliant art that I really hope one day he'll share. :) 
> 
> I have a lot of headcanons for this ficlet, and would love to expand it if anyone's interested? I'm still having trouble finding Geralt's voice, normally I can pick up dialogue quite well but Geralt is giving me trouble. 
> 
> You can find me at jbbarnes.tumblr.com where I'm taking prompts (always), or twitter.com/smallreprieves :)
> 
> All comments are appreciated, no comment is too short or too silly. 
> 
> If anything needs tagging, feel free to let me know (nicely, if you could).
> 
> Stay safe, and take care.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Not Your Monster](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28549704) by [Chantress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chantress/pseuds/Chantress)




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